Come Back, Be Here
by potatoes-are-not-for-sex
Summary: Established Phan- What happens when everything you thought was meant to last forever is torn apart overnight? Dan is gone and Phil doesn't know what's going on, but is there more at play here than he suspects?
1. You Said It In A Simple Way

Phil woke up to an empty bed- not completely unusual, some times Dan would get up earlier than him or end up falling asleep on the couch, curled up around his laptop. Phil rolled over, nuzzling his face into the pillow, yawning widely. He wriggled further under the sheets, not wanting the morning to start just yet.

'Dan?' He called out. There was no response so he yelled a bit louder, 'DAN?'

Maybe he'd gone down to the shops. He didn't usually go anywhere so early but… Phil was asleep in moments, too tired to reasonably figure out where Dan might or really worry at all.

It was only when he woke up an hour later, sitting bolt upright at the completely silent house, when he began to panic.

Checking his phone, there were no messages from Dan earlier than when he was on his way home two days ago, asking if they needed anything from the shops. He bolted out of bed and ran to the couch, the spare bedroom, anywhere that Dan might be- but he was no where to be found. He called out his name several times, but nothing and no one responded.

Heading back to their room and dressing, he quickly texted all his friends, asking if they knew were Dan was or when they'd last heard from him, and then got dressed quickly and did a second sweep of the apartment, on the off chance that he'd fallen asleep somewhere and hadn't heard him calling yet.

After the house, he headed to town, as if convinced that if he went to their favourite cafés, shops, even the places they stopped to sit sometimes, maybe Dan would just be there waiting for him? He kept catching sight of tall boys with black hair, and his heart would race for just a moment, before he noticed everything about them which made them not Dan, their eyes were the wrong colour, the hair too short, too muscly; and every time his heart would just sink further.

When he finally got back to the apartment hours later, after searching every single place they'd ever visited together within walking distance, he was windswept, exhausted and distraught. Sitting down onto the couch, close to tears from frustration and worry, he had a sudden thought to try contact Dan's parents. He had made it all the way to the contact on his phone and was just about to press call when he suddenly heard a knock on the front door.

Jumping up from the couch, his phone falling to the ground with a noisy clatter, he all but ran to the door and wrenched it open.

When he saw Chris standing there, his heart and face dropped- for one second he had thought the entire morning had been his anxiety playing with him and that Dan would be at the door with a simple explanation and a warm smile. But the look on Chris' face only made him feel worse than he had moments earlier, particularly as Chris let himself in and took Phil solemnly to the couch, in a very un-Chris-like manner.

It was an awkward scene, neither looking the other in the eye or saying anything, until Chris finally piped up and asked if Phil had eaten anything yet.

'No?' Phil was surprised by how hoarse his voice sounded. 'Is that important?'

Chris looked conflicted and made to stand up, 'I'll make you a sandwich or something, shall I?' Phil grabbed his arm before he could leave, pulling him back down onto the couch with strength he didn't know he had.

'You know something.' It wasn't a question; it was a statement, a demand.

Chris looked uneasy, 'I think you need to have some food in you before we go any further, you must be completely drained, Alex said you've been all over town.'

'Tell me.'

Phil's stare was cold, but desperate. Chris knew he had no other choice and reaching into his pocket, pulled out a scrap of paper with a scrawled message on one side.

'I found this at my door this morning, it wasn't there last night when I got home, he must have slid it under the door or something…'

Phil grabbed it, flipping it over to see that the other side was the title page to Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone, with Dan Howell written in the handwriting of a much younger boy on the top right-hand corner. Looking up at Chris, whose face was blank, he turned it over again and read:

_ Going away for a bit. Please don't follow me, I'll just move_

_If you really need me:_

_Chelsea Highline Hostel  
__184 11__th__ Avenue  
__New York_

_Dan_

Phil felt his entire body freeze. It was definitely Dan's handwriting. New York?

He flipped the page over again, as if hoping to find another secret message of explanation, saying why he'd left, how long he'd be gone, why he hadn't said a word to Phil- why he hadn't taken Phil with him.

'I'm so sorry Phil..' Chris reached out and put a hand on his Phil's shoulder, but Phil hardly seemed to notice. His eyes were just scanning over the words before him, _going away for a bit_. This was madness, a bad dream, it couldn't really be happening.

He didn't realize he was crying until Chris pressed a tissue into his hand and he suddenly became aware of the cold tears trailing down his cheeks. Bringing up his knees, he curled up on the couch, unconsciously mimicking the way Dan sometimes fell asleep in that very same spot. But Phil was not thinking of that, he wasn't thinking of anything except trying to understand why Dan was gone, and why he hadn't come back yet.

He hardly noticed Chris pulling a sheet over him, murmuring words of comfort. The apartment grew dark as day turned to night, but Phil didn't move, the note clenched in his hand, his eyes wide and haunted.


	2. And I Break Down

**One month later**

* * *

Dear Dan

Hi! Wow it still feels strange to be writing you a letter… I guess we only ever talked in person or online, remember that day where we only talked to each other with animal noises? That was practically impossible… and it feels like forever ago! I guess it was.

Anyway, how are you going! I hope you're having fun in New York, if you're still there. I have been sending all my letters there so I sure hope you've been getting them, there have been some serious handwriting efforts! I mean, there were drawings and everything. We've all been writing to the address you left with Chris, I hope you've gotten at least some of these, or that if you've moved they've forwarded them to you! Money must be super tight, I know that mail can get expensive when it's international but we'd all love just a note letting us know how you're going what you're up to! We all miss you.

I never asked for any explanation in any of my other letters, but I suppose it would seem kind of strange if I didn't wonder why you left? I know you had planned to go back to the states for vidcon with all of us, but that's half a year away and we always go together. I don't know.. was it something I did? Because if it was I'll change anything you want, or do anything- even if you just want to never see me again! I can do that.. but I just wish I knew what it was Dan, I can't stop wondering why you just left..

I don't really have any news! I'm sorry if you've been waiting for me to post a video, I keep meaning to but it all sort of gets too hard, maybe we'll do a big return one together once you're back? I've gotten so many messages asking when we'll be back, everyone really misses you Dan.

I hope you can find a way to write back, or give us a call? I put our address and my number on the back, in case for some reason you couldn't find them and that's why you haven't been in touch, and the other letters didn't reach you. I really hope you'll call soon.

I miss you so much.

Love

Phil

—-

Hey Dan

I miss you! I guess you must have needed some time away but…

Okay I'm just going to be blunt here. Phil is falling apart. He doesn't do anything, if you have Internet where you are you'll see he hasn't posted anything anywhere since you left. He just sits on the couch, eats when we make him and writes letters to you. What happened?

Chris showed me the letter you left, real nice of you- did you think you could just piss off like that? We're your friends, all of us, and you left basically with no warning, for no clear reason..

I am guessing you do have your reasons, fine, but even if you had some need to run away from everything here, friends included, you had no right not to tell Phil. He's broken and it's all your fault.

I dunno… I can't think why you'd do it… I'm trying not to be angry at you- I wasn't at first! People need to do things and that's cool, but you could have at least left some word of why for Phil. You guys are, well, you! That's pretty shitty Dan, you didn't even give him your address, you left it with Chris? Did you think he wouldn't show Phil? Did you think Phil would just move on, be fine without you?

Call him. Or at least send a note, something, but send it to Phil this time? Everyone can be scared and be cowardly, but you really do owe him that.

Alex

* * *

_Sorry if this is a bit confusing but this story will be jumping around a bit! Lots of backstory and more chapters to look forward to (: Up next maybe we'll get to see where Dan's at? Thank you so much hiilikecheese, NeverlandNat and Cocoacucumbaface for reviewing! Lots of rainbow cookies for you! :D _


	3. This Is When The Feeling Sinks In

**Chapter 3: This Is When The Feeling Sinks In**

Dan walks down 11th Avenue, his coat pulled firmly around himself as a chilly breeze blows past him. Looking up at the hostel front door, he's thinking about how easy it would be to walk in, head to the concierge and ask if there is any mail for Dan Howell. He has his identification, they'd give it to him easily enough, and then he could-

What? Read the letters?

He had vowed to sever his connections with London entirely, it seemed foolish not to leave an address but the torrents of mail that followed meant it had to move, it was too hard not to just open up the letters that slid into his mail box almost every day; the familiar scrawl of Phil's handwriting on the address was enough to make him want to spend the rest of the night crying, and so he packed his things, paid for the rest of the month and, when asked, didn't provide a forwarding address for any mail.

Shoving his hands further into his pockets, his eyes stinging, he forces himself, like every morning, to keep walking past the funny old hostel, past his old life. He has made a promise to himself and it was for the best. For everyone.

He turns the corner and it's a busy road and he is free from his thoughts once again. It's funny how he choses to walk this way to work every day. Yes, it is the shortest route, but he could always just go around the longer way, it hardly saves two minutes of his time- but there's something about reminding himself why he's here, why he's doing this, that makes this path so important. He's come so close to packing his things and flying back home more times than he cares to remember, and if this keeps him from being a coward and giving in, he'll go through the torture every day.

Walking up to the supermarket, Dan clips his nametag onto his uniform shirt, running one hand through his short blonde hair. Peering into the reflective glass of the window, he can see at least half an inch of dark regrowth, some new bleach will have to be bough soon, maybe time for cutting some more off. He was worried about how he'd hide effectively, but short, blonde hair makes him almost unrecognizable, and the one time a girl looking for cheese pointed out that he looked 'like that British YouTube guy who lives with his friend', he managed to convince her she was mistaken.

The accent has taken some time to perfect, but after two months, no one even asks him where he's from anymore. In fact, he spent the first week mimicking others he heard speaking, while he wasn't looking for a job. It was hard at first, responding to the name Robert and remembering to put on the accent, keep a low profile, not make any friends… but by now he's used to it. Every morning he puts on his uniform, his accent, and his college dropout backstory and makes the twenty minute walk to where he worked every day.

It is a fairly simple job- stack shelves, clean up mess so people don't fall over, put misplaced items back where they belong, aid lost customers... The manager had been so pleased when 'Robert' had said he was free to work all day, any day, but Dan had subsequently been disappointed to find himself only scheduled on four days of the week, leaving three other days he needed to find something to do with.

Grabbing a box of crisps and heading down to aisle four, Dan reflects on how much he used to despise working here. He was constantly in fear of being recognized and lived for the time when his shift would come to an end. But that soon changed.

Dan learnt very quickly that being at work surrounded by people and tasks, with a manager watching your every move, was a far kinder prospect than the emptiness of his apartment and the silence which greeted him after work. He's managed to convince the manager to give him more shifts, so now the day only he wakes up, anxiously fearing every hour he had to sit alone, are Mondays; his day off.

He would give anything to not stay alone all day. But he had to, this was what he'd chosen to do and he wanted to do. As he starts to fill the shelf with the different flavours, in the corner of his vision he spots someone walking past the end of the aisle with straight black hair and pale skin. Forcing himself not to glance back, or walk down to the end of the aisle to check, he picks up the next packet of crisps and places it on the shelf.

This happened maybe three times a day- sometimes it was the hair, other days it was someone with a similar purple shirt. The first week he almost had a heart attack every time, thinking it was Phil and unsure whether to run and hide and pray he'd not been seen, or to go over and hug him as if nothing had changed and pray he'd be forgiven. But by now it is much less of a surprise, just a moment of hope, a moment where his heart races and a small smile sneaks its way onto his face, before he has to steel himself, turn to the task at hand and act as if he isn't constantly searching for the one person he misses the most.

* * *

_Sorry this took so long to update! I had about three different options as to how I was going to write this and was sorting them all out before I confused myself XD Thanks to everyone who read the other two chapters and special blueberry cookies for NeverlandNat, hiilikecheese and Sasaphrinascream for their lovely reviews :3 I hope you enjoyed this one, Dan's perspective! I have a lot of plans but they are still somewhat forming so please let me know what you think :) Thank you!_


	4. The Feeling You Can Know So Much

**Chapter 4: The Feeling You Can Know So Much..**

It's barely four in the afternoon but the few streets between the bus stop and the apartment are already bathed in semi-darkness, the chilling breeze somehow still biting through Phil's thick coat. In his mind (because his mind manages to still always be drifting towards Dan), he imagines Dan is somewhere warm, lounging in a t-shirt and commenting on how dark his skin has tanned.

It's a nice memory, Italy with PJ and Chris. The days were filled with sunshine, water, laughter and the ease of good company. With a half-hearted smile, Phil rustles through his bag for the key, remembering the way Dan would rest, floating on the clear blue water; if he couldn't be here, with Phil, then Italy is where Dan should be.

Perhaps on another night he might have been fortunate enough to be noisy and noticeable, but on this dreary afternoon, Phil slips into the apartment with barely a whisper, so the two figures clad in black approaching from the adjacent lane don't even see him enter.

_They've just scouted out the perimeter and are returning to the target site, satisfied with their inspection and prepared to commence the mission._

_It was hardly as if this was a challenge to either party._

_They had both been trained for more than a decade now for precisely this purpose, and they had infiltrated far more complex situations than the apartment of two young men. They moved seamlessly, predicting and anticipating the actions of each other, based on paired training and years of experience in the field as a team. It was a little strange for such an elite pair to be working an urban case, but the target had been sent to them specifically, and they knew better than to disobey direct orders._

_Perhaps their downfall was the simplicity of the task, no murder, no captives; no one could know they'd been there. One apartment in the middle of London and it was nothing more than a grab and run, something they both saw as beneath them._

_Pulling out a small black pouch containing the equipment to pick the door's look, barely leaving a scratch, the taller of the pair waves a hand at their partner, indicating he should keep watch._

Phil hums aimlessly to himself as he unwraps the rice packet, cutting along the line and shoving it into the microwave. As the light flickers on and the coloured bag beings to rotate before his eyes, Phil suddenly notices a scratching noise. Not quite scratching, no, but the sound of metal.

He hits the cancel button, concerned that there might be a fault in the microwave, but in the abrupt silence immediately locates the strange noise as coming from the front door.

His eyes dart to the sliver of sunlight at the end of the door and widen as they watch two shadows move slightly- _feet_, his brain screams, _feet or knees, that means person, in London, didn't press the doorbell, come on Phil-_

He scrambles to the nearest room, dropping his fork as he runs, and swiftly closes the door behind him, trying to stay quiet. It seems a bit pointless, because anyone robbing his house must be able to hear his heart pounding against his ribcage, but the adrenaline tells him to keep quiet, and so he does.

The front door creaks open (just like it used to when Dan would arrive home later than him, before they were good, stinking of alcohol but still trying not to wake Phil) and he steps backwards. The frame of a bed knocks against his knees and he's in Dan's room, with the duvet where he left it- no one has slept here for more than a year. Moving as silently as he can, Phil lifts the corner of the sheets and slides himself beneath the bed frame, pressing his back against the cold floor boards and letting out the long sigh he didn't realise he was holding.

Don't move. Don't make a sound.

His hand is less disciplined and reaches out in the darkness of his closed eyes (feels safer) to grasp at fabric- silky material- Dan's boxers? He almost laughs but pauses with his mouth half open.

_It takes them less than a minute to cleanly pick the lock, and even less than that to find the target's laptop. Stowing it in an unmarked black backpack, the team moves on. The first door opens to a bedroom and the photo on the desk tells them they're found the right one. Too easy._

Phil tries not to gasp when they open the door and walk in, but he's sure he must have reacted audibly in some way. There are footsteps and movements but everything is delicate and quiet and they must know he's here. His foot twitches and suddenly his leg seizes up in cramps, pain shooting up his thigh, his face contorting into a grimace, teeth clamped together as if the tighter he squeezes them, the sooner the pain will end. His hand shifts again, unintentionally, and falls upon a cardboard box, with a soft, dull thud. Phil blinks and is completely still, everything else forgotten in an instant.

_They are pulling out the drawers of the desk when they hear two noises, the first nearby and concerning, and the second even more so- a doorbell, followed by the scrape of a key. The drawers are closed and the books restacked in a matter of seconds and they are out the window before the door has clicked shut behind the intruder._

"Phil? You home? I brought some milk!" He can hear PJ's voice but can't convince himself to move. He also heard the window open and close, but this apartment is on the seventeenth floor. It's not until he hears the door open a few minutes later and PJ's voice somewhere above him that he dares to make a move.

"Phil? I saw your phone outside this room, what's going on?"

"Are they gone?"

PJ kneels and lifts up the corner of the duvet, only to see Phil's feet as he crawls out on the other side. They meet on the bed and before he let's PJ ask anything else, Phil dumps the cardboard box on the bed between them.

Underneath a thick sheet of dust, the box is black, slightly larger than a shoebox, with metal reinforcements on each corner. The lid fits snugly and is lifted off to reveal sheets of paper, bound together and sorted into manila folders. Phil opens the first one and pulls out a page, reading the contents aloud.

"_Daniel Howell is moving to Manchester at the end of Grade 8 with his family. His father has received a promotion that offers the family greater financial prospects and Daniel will attend the local secondary school. He will not be enthusiastic about sports or anything that requires a demonstration of physical exertion_."

The page was lowered in shaking hands to the bed once more and finally Phil looked up and met PJ's confused expression with matching bewilderment.

"Do you have any idea what this is?"

PJ shook his head, taking the page from Phil, squinting to read the fine print. Phil didn't move, his hands fisting into the sheets as he fought back against his watering eyes.

* * *

**Hello! Wow sorry that took so long, next one will be quicker I promise! Endless thanks to the lovely Serene Wyrd, NeverlandNat, ahlameyacream, Sasaphrinascream, thegirlgage, Ashley, piefould, Rocketship Raven, hunting horcruxes, Apenandpaper, LittlePrincessCJ, EmeraaldDreamss, athleanaprime21, JustAboveYourAverageSlytheri n and wkroine for reviewing- I really couldn't do it with out your kind words and motivation to let you know what happens next! I hope you liked this chapter :D xx**


	5. Without Knowing Anything At All

**Chapter 5: Without Knowing Anything At All**

* * *

It's some time after 1am but no one has checked the clock for a while now. They are sitting around the dining table- Phil, PJ, Chris, Carrie, Alex and Charlie (it is their house after all), the contents of the black box spread between them. Every now and then one of them speaks, prompting mild responses from the others, but over the long evening, the novelty of the strange documents has turned to wary discomfort.

"Listen to this- _Daniel's grandmother was the third of three sisters, whose parents ancestors sailed over from France prior to the second uprising in 1830. She worked as a secretary in a bank until she met her father's tailor and her future husband. _The thing is, I remember Dan saying he had French family, said it's why he was so good at it in school… but look it says here, _despite this Daniel's French language skills are limited as his grandmother insisted her children spoke only English, _so that doesn't make sense!" Alex tosses the file into the centre with the other read and discarded items.

Charlie, returning from the kitchen with a tray of precariously balanced, steaming mugs, catches the end of his sentence.

"None of it makes sense, why does he need all of this? It's not like it's a family project or something, there are hundreds of pages!"

"Hardly a family project-" Chris grabs a mug in one hand, a paper in the other, "_Daniel is reluctant to mention his primary school years, a quiet disposition may suggest bullying in primary school, although he will never fully admit to ever being bullied prior to whatever occurs in secondary years- _there is no way Dan wrote this himself. What even _is_ this?"

He takes a sip and spits the near-boiling liquid out onto the nearest sheets. Seizing the chance for distraction, everyone in the room rushes over and reaches for the pages, sponging off the brown tea marks with tissues, remarking on Chris' clumsy nature, as PJ collects some cool water from the kitchen to sooth the burnt tongue.

"It's his life," he says calmly, passing the glass to a mournful, grateful Chris, "It's everything that is Dan, all written down in funny little folders, it's like-"

Phil cuts across him, his voice uncharacteristically deep.

"It's like a reference. In case he ever forgot anything." He slumps forwards onto the table, fingers tangled in black hair and eyes wearily re-reading the words in front of them.

-TO BE VIEWED BY ARTEMIS AND SUBSEQUENTLY DESTROYED-

After a moment he passes it around, ignoring their exclamations and quizzical expressions. PJ suggests trying to track down Artemis, perhaps he would know where Dan had disappeared to, Alex disagrees, suggests that Artemis is gathering data on Dan against his will, but Phil ignores them all, trying to focus on the facts and failing to forget that this was Dan, this was his Dan. His Dan, who had a box that contained his life, under the bed they'd once shared. His life in a box, for handy reference, almost as if…

"It's him. It's Dan."

Charlie looks up, his voice the painful tone of helpfulness that the others had managed to shake off but ever-sympathetic Charlie couldn't quite manage.

"Who's Dan?"

Phil stands up, walks over to the counter and pulls on his coat and gloves. The others also stand, startled by his sudden movement. As he makes his way to the door, Carrie finds the sense to dart over and stand in front of him.

"Phil. Where are you going? It's," she glances over to check the clock, "It's 2:30 in the morning!"

Phil's eyes are wild and bright and he is more alive than he's been in weeks.

"It's Dan." He repeats and then steps around Carrie and out the door, disappearing into the streets.

* * *

Carrie stands at the door, watching Phil's figure walk furiously down the front path and onto the street. She hesitates for only a moment, before pulling her coat off the rack and tossing her bag over her shoulder.

"Wait!" Alex moves behind her, Chris following suit, "I'm coming too." The rest all indicate their agreement, collecting warmer clothes and phones.

"NO!" She doesn't mean to yell so loud and seeing their startled faces, Carries lowers her voice, reaching out with her hand. "I mean, let's not all rush him. I'll go and I'll text to let you know if you should follow." She starts opening the door when Alex steps forward to put his hand on her shoulder.

"It's not safe at this time to be on the streets alone, let me come, please." His smile is so kind and his eyes so caring that she can't help but smile back herself. But she shakes her head, blonde curls bouncing around her shoulders.

"Don't worry, I won't be alone."

* * *

The park is only ten minutes walk from the Cherimon house and she's walking swiftly against the icy night's breeze so arrives there in even less time. Phil is just where she expects to find him, sitting on the swing (the left one, the right one was always a little closer to the gate and Dan would run there first, jumping on with joyful screeches at his victory), swinging back and forth, only slightly, legs hanging limp from the rubber seat and his arms twisted around the chains.

His eyes remain downcast, even as Carrie approaches and sits herself down in front of him. Her eyes flicker to the empty swing next to him, then back to Phil, and they remain there, Carrie's patience silently digging into Phil's shell, coaxing him back to her.

Finally he looks up and it's all she can do not to breath and audible sigh of relief. She allows herself a moment to notice the tears, still shining on his cheeks, his red nose, the way his hands are almost white from clenching too tightly to the metal.

"It's okay to be sad Phil, you don't have to hide from us." She pauses, her words hanging awkwardly between them.

She'd aimed for comforting, but watching his lower lip disappear beneath his gnawing teeth, she feels hugely unsuccessful. Suddenly he laughs, a raw rasp, and wipes the eyes with the back of his hand.

"You don't think I know that? What do you think I've been doing for the past three months Carrie? I don't know if there's any sad left in me." His hand clenches the chain once more, his voice rising with each phrase.

"I was so sad, I am- I'm broken, didn't you notice? Nothing's putting it all back together, no magical switch… but you know, I thought he might just be able to do it? I thought-"

He jumps forward off the swing, striding past Carrie, who silently turns, following him, as he starts to pace before her. She can almost see his brain churning as his jaw tightens and his steps hasten.

"I can be sad. I can do that," He laughs bitterly, "It feels like I've been sad forever, but you know what, Carrie? I've never been mad at him; I've never felt mad or angry at Dan, not once." A harsh sob slips past his lips as he pivots, continuing his march back and forth on the tanbark.

"I've hated the fact that we were apart, I've wished with all my strength that I knew where he was, why he left, how to make it all better again," He exhales heavily, flinging his arms upwards and twisting his fingers through his hair. "But until today I couldn't feel angry, I could only hope that he was coming back." He pauses, face turned, his words dissolving into shaking sobs. Carrie can hear him sniffling, dabbing his nose with his sleeve. She decides to try again.

She stands, slowly, noticing his shoulders tense when she takes a step his way. Stopping, she coughs slightly. "It's okay to be angry Phil, you have every right to be! I may be the newest around here but Dan-"

"DON'T tell me what's okay." He turns around, eyes red and brimming with tears. Carrie trembles but holds her ground as he marches forward, words spitting violently from his usually gentle lips. "Don't do that, don't you dare. It's like you're all blind or something! Don't you see? Don't you think?"

He's standing right in front of her, she can almost see her own reflection in his wide blue eyes, but she's completely at a loss.

"Please, Phil..." She starts, but her hesitation rings clear in her unsteady voice.

"Don't. Don't tell me it's okay, it's not." Phil's eyes fall to the ground and his voice drops so low she can barely hear his next words. "It's all a lie Carrie, everything. That's me, that's everything I am, I was-" He looks up again, nearly hitting her face with the sudden movement. "_He_ was everything, and he- Dan, it's all a lie." Phil grabs her hand and Carrie twitches at the contact but her gaze remains steady.

"He's a lie, our life is all built on a lie, stored neatly in a cardboard box. So yes, It's _okay_ to be angry, and I'm so fucking angry, believe me I am. But it's not okay, I can't do this-"

His sentence is choked out by the hiccups of his weeping and it's then that Carrie reaches out, circling his waist with strong, warm arms. Phil falls onto her, burying his head into her shoulder. Her shoulder is soon soaked with his tears and her back aches under the weight of his body resting on her but she doesn't move, just strokes his back in soothing circles and holds him close while he rests his broken heart for a moment.

* * *

**Poor Phil.. What is Dan up to! All my love and raspberry jam donuts to RocketshipRaven, NeverlandNat, illputyourmuminabox and NicholeLovesPhan for your reviews :D LOOK IT ONLY TOOK ME A WEEK TO UPDATE! More soon I promise! Please let me know what you thought of this chapter, what you think is going on! A prize for the person who guesses right? Yes indeed! See you soon my lovelies xx**


	6. If I Had Known

**Chapter 6: If I Had Known**

It's probably morning and no longer night by the time they make it back to the house, arms linked and exhausted. In the dim lights of the street lamps, Carrie sneaks sideways looks at Phil, but gets no answers aside from weary smiles of reassurance that don't quite reach his eyes. The grass is wet with condensation and they leave their boots at the front door, opening the door quietly and creeping inside, as the lights are not on in the main room and everyone appears to have retreated to bed, the form of the black box barely visible in the glow of the moonlight.

Carrie gives Phil a firm hug, feeling a little uncomfortable that no one stayed up for them, but considering the time of day and how tired everyone must be, she tries to push these negative thoughts aside. He insists on sleeping on the couch (PJ and Chris might be happy to share the small bed in the guest room but three would really be pushing it) and Carrie bids him goodnight, planting a soft kiss on his cheek, which seems to make him smile a little more.

The stairs creak awfully, even if this is a new apartment, and it takes her an age to get to the top without waking everyone up. Too drained to even change her clothes, she makes her way down to the end of the hall, grinning at the prospect of sharing the big king bed with her two favourite boys.

Later on, she'll look back at this moment and realise that she should have known something was wrong- Charlie's pyjamas were still thrown on the bathroom floor, the silence was lacking the usual rumble of Alex's snores, but as she walks, there is nothing on her mind but the soft embrace of a bed and the prospect of a better tomorrow for them all. And so, it is not until she reaches the bedroom and blindly makes her way to the bed, that she notices the lack of bodies in the bed, the cool welcome of unused sheets, the absence of the shallow exhalations of sleep. It takes her a whole minute to consolidate this fact in her mind before she suddenly jolts upright and darts from the bed, not bothering to be quiet as she flicks on the light switch and confirms her suspicions. The bed is empty.

"Phil!" She calls his name continually as she runs down the hall then the stairs, and he meets her at the last step, grabbing her shoulders.

"They're not there." Her voice is high-pitched and she coughs once, then tries again. "Charlie and Alex, they're not in their bed, have you seen Chris or PJ yet?" Phil shakes his head and they both stumble through the dark to the guest bedroom, before switching on the light to discover the bed was made and unused.

Phil feels a cold dread setting over him. It's happening again and this time it's all of them, gone in the middle of the night without a word. What if he and Carrie hadn't left? Would they have gone too? There's no sign of a note, yet… Taking a deep breath, Phil steels himself. Carrie is shaking beside him and he winds an arm around her shoulders and squeezes. He needs to be strong, stronger than he feels, if not for himself then for her; he's no use as a mournful mess now.

Trying to find the right words to comfort her, Phil is about to suggest they make a cup of tea when suddenly Carrie stiffens and grabs Phil's hand so tightly that her fingernails dig painfully into his skin. Her eyes wide, she leans in close and whispers, "Can you hear that?"

Phil closes his eyes and listens. He hears something, voices? Before he can say anything, Carrie drags him to the staircase, muttering something about nowhere being safe; they got the others, when he suddenly tugs on her arm, stopping her.

"Where are you going? Let's just wait here and see what happens." His tone is scathing and he doesn't even bother keeping his voice quiet and Carrie claps a hand over his mouth, raising her eyebrows in indignation.

"Phil! There is someone at the front door. You can hear them, yes?" He nods once. "Okay. So we don't know what's going on with our friends and there are people," There are suddenly scraping noises at the front door and Carrie gulps, "There are people breaking into the house so you are going to shut up and-" There is a loud clunk and the door handle begins to rattle. Pulling Phil along behind her, Carrie darts into the next room and ducks under the table, shuffling forwards on her knees so they are both obscured by the thick cotton tablecloth.

They came to a rest in the middle of the table not a moment too soon, as there was a click and the door creaked open. Carrie lifted her hand off Phil's mouth, pulling him close to her side as they tried their best to breath quietly.

Loud footsteps sounded, coming closer and closer to the table, before coming to a halt right in front of their hiding place. Carrie's hair is brushing the side of Phil's neck and it's all he can do not to reach up and brush it away or move slightly to the left, but he doesn't dare risk making their presence known.

"I can't believe we left this, Boss would be so pissed if he found out!" The first voice has a rough, Scottish accent and his friend does too.

"Well good thing he ain't going to find out, 'innit! Bloody kids were stronger than we was told they'd be, they cant blame us for having to do two trips!" There is a small noise as the box is lifted off the table and opened to ensure the contents are still there. These men are completely different to the one's Phil encountered before, they lack in finesse and competence. One of the sets of footsteps starts to walk away, but the other calls back to his partner- "What about those shoes them? I'm telling you, they weren't here when we came before."

There is an exasperated sigh from near the front door. "Forget about those bloody shoes! This house is all messy- we were a bit occupied last time! It's nearly four and people are already awake, we musn't be seen, remember? They said that's the most important!" The man near the table makes a noncommittal noise but joins him at the door and a few moments later the door is closed, locked, and the footsteps fade out of earshot.

Phil counts to thirty seconds before deciding to move. Remaining silent, he motions for Carrie to stay put and slowly lifts up the edge of the tablecloth, peering out into the dim. He can't see anything (or anyone) and so he moves out from under the table, making his way to the window. Through the gap in the blinds he spots a large, black van speeding off down the street. With a sigh, he opens the front door quickly to see no one walking or driving left on the street and, closing it again, calls out to Carrie.

"They're gone, you can come out now."

She crawls out, her white face matching Phil's, and quickly rushes over to join him. He can see that her hand is shaking slightly but smiles with pride when she speaks to him with a firm, determined voice.

"Someone is apparently after us, all of us. We need to leave, now."

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**More suspense! I'm sorry about all the tension, but we are only uncovering the mystery as fast as Phil and his friends do! I loved reading about what you guys thought might be happening, please send in more and tell me what you thought of this chapter! No one has guessed it yet :D Special love for NeverlandNat, guest, PomegranateRide, Pitato, windrunner123 (I enjoyed your idea! Someone should write that), illputyourmuminabox (ehehe good confused I hope!), just-another-writer-22, NicoleLovesPhan- you make me actually finish these chapters and post them! More soon I promise n_n**


	7. What I Know Now

**Chapter 7: What I Know Now**

They don't have any idea how long it might be before someone comes back, so they work swiftly. Carrie starts in the bedroom and, pulling out a large duffle bag, tries to find some dark, inconspicuous clothing to put in it. Unfortunately, not one single item of Alex's fits this description, and so she is limited to Charlie's clothing, which are also quite bright and colourful. Eventually she finds two grey t-shirts and some spare jumpers and shoves them in the bag, along with deodorant, socks and a cap she found at the bottom of Alex's drawers. Into plastic bags she puts Charlie's light, travel laptop and charger, as well as an iPhone charger to share. She also pulls a green beanie over her strikingly curly hair, remembering how easy it was for her friends to identify her from a distance by the blond mass.

Meanwhile, Phil ransacks the kitchen for portable meals; cans, biscuits, packaged treats all end up in a plastic bag which he leaves on the main table for Carrie to pack, along with two bottles of water. After a moment's thought, he pulls the blue, mohair rug off the couch and leaves that on the table too. They have their coats but it's nearly December and they have no idea what they're doing once they've left the house. It can't hurt to be prepared.

Feeling a little guilty for stealing from his friends, Phil then searches around to find any money. When he finds Alex's wallet, he decides to leave the bank cards (people always seem trace those in movies) and takes all the cash, which is £150. It's enough to start on, and he manages to scrounge up around £60 from the pockets of coats and the bottom of backpacks. Making a mental note of how much he's taken so that one day he can pay his fiends back (the possibility of not being able to pay them back is too daunting for him to deal with at the moment), he shoves the money in his wallet, which he puts into the inner pocket of his coat. Getting pickpocketed is always a risk in London, but they can't afford to lose what they have this time, not when they've already lost so much.

He meets Carrie at the back door, a forest green beanie somehow concealing all of her hair. She passes him a cap and he raises his eyebrows but pulls it over his hair. He'd never wear such a thing normally, which Phil concedes really is the point of disguising yourself, but he still cringes when he catches sight of himself in the mirror. It's strange, but somehow he is able to do all this. He can turn off the hurt and confusion and just focus, be logical- go on the run? Just as long as he doesn't think.

"Hey," Carries voice is a soft embrace and he realizes neither of them have spoken for almost an hour since making their rushed plans to leave the house, "We're going to be okay." She doesn't even pretend that she's convincing either of them that anything is okay, but it's nice to hear it said aloud anyway.

Phil nods and grabs her hand, giving it a short squeeze. "We still have each other right?" Carrie smiles up at him and nods.

They open the door and leave, making sure to lock it behind them. Even if locks can be picked, it gives them some sense of reassurance that they are leaving everything there to return to, eventually. There is supposedly no way to way to exit the house from the back, but thanks to Chris' endless pranking of his friends...

"_No way, Alex will _kill _us if we break more things, they've only moved in three weeks ago!" Phil pretends to be reluctant, but he just giggles as he watches Chris work the planks of wood loose, bending them back and forth until they gave enough for a slender person to fit through the gap formed. "What Alex doesn't know will only hurt him as long as he doesn't let us use the spa bath!" Chris' gangster impersonation only makes Phil giggle harder, "Lester, you're my watchout, stay focused!" They are hidden behind the rose bushes, rigging up an elaborate slingshot, master pranksters at their prime. "Phil?" Chris sounds strangely concerned, and Phil-_

"Phil?" Carrie's voice is more determined this time and he remembers himself, blinking away tears he hadn't noticed forming and, nodding curtly, leads the way to the far corner of the back garden. He's hardly rested properly in weeks, he's not about to let one more sleepless night turn him into a wreck. Pushing aside the thorny bushes with the sleeve of his coat, Phil pulls on the loose wood until the gap in the fence is revealed again, must to Carrie's amusement.

"So it _was_ you guys! I swear Alex was just about to ask to move in to my place, he was so convinced the house was haunted!" Carrie always did manage to make the best of any situation she was put into, though how she could still be cheerful after this hell of a night is an utter mystery to Phil.

He stands back, indicating for her to go first, and he follows soon after, squeezing through the narrow gap before moving the planks back as well as he can to conceal their escape route.

It opens up onto a cobblestone alleyway that runs behind the houses on the street. From past experience, Phil knows that one direction leads to an exit on a nearby street, but that's not what they need right now. They've already agreed that neither of their places are going to be safe, but they need rest and shelter for a while, at least before deciding what to do next. Instead he turns left, following the alleyway down until it hits the back of the local library.

The fence is relatively easy to climb but the library doesn't open for another two hours, so they decide to sit in the rear carpark, leaning their weary backs against a thick tree trunk. Carrie's eyes are shut as soon as the back of her head is resting against the bark, and Phil reaches over to cover her with the rug.

He leans back next to her, resting his phone on to of his thighs, tracing with a single finger around the rectangular edge. His head is aching and his legs numb in the cool morning's air, but his mind seems to be working on overdrive- how he will ever be able to catch some sleep is beyond him. His mind slips back to what feels like an age ago, sitting around the table, reading over the strange documents. He lingers on the things he didn't appreciate then; the way Chris scrunched up his nose when he read things he couldn't comprehend, Charlie's endless cups of teas and kind words, how PJ kept fiddling with his pen, spinning it across his fingers (but only when Chris was looking), Alex's exuberant hand movements- and within a few minutes, he had joined Carrie in slumber.

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**They're on the run! All my love to my wonderful theta for again fixing this chapter up, and special virtual hot cross buns for CrazyxChaotic (I'm so glad! Who wouldn't want to be trapped in a house with Phil? :P), DevTheManiac (you're getting closer! :D), Korine (ahaha perfect- being human is awesome! Funnily enough when I first started planning this story that was very close to what it was going to be about!), NeverlandNat (But you're lovely and read and review all my writing and I think you're brilliant J) and athleanaprime21 (lots of tension! more tension next chapter and the next ehehe) – your reviews inspire me so very much to write and upload quickly for you! If you have any questions, theories or requests please review and let me know what you thought and I'll see you all soon! :D xxx panfs**


	8. When You Are Worlds Away

_note: yes, I am awful at updating HERE IS SOME DAN PLEASE FORGIVE ME_

* * *

**Chapter 8: When You Are Worlds Away**

Dan stares blankly at the outdated and somewhat decrepit computer screen, wrinkling up his nose at the pungent smell of hot chips and unwashed bodies. He rarely frequented Internet Cafés and this establishment couldn't have reminded him more why this was the case. Looking past the owner himself, and the equally delightful users watching porn on either side of him, the place itself was grossly overcrowded, the chairs squished against each other - the mouse was covered by a slimy substance that Dan wasn't entirely sure he wanted to know the origins of, and use the keyboard was heavily impeded by the abundance of crumbs wedged between the keys.

While Dan would never have coped in such conditions in the past, today he hardly noticed these aspects, if only to note his disdain, his task was far more important. The homepage takes at least two minutes to load and he has to wait again after he types in the web address he could never truly forget. He's not entirely sure what he expected to find, or even what it was precisely that drove him to do this, even after so much time had passed.

It's just the way it was before. The same video promoted on his home page, the same links in the sidebar, the same picture and coloured words proclaiming 'AmazingPhil' decorating the top of the page. It's as if he's opening a door to his past and the torrents of memories he's kept at bay, tried to move on from, are challenging him, edging on rushing back, wetting his eyes- the afternoons spent editing together, picking songs and graphics, reviewing their joint videos and making certain that they have cut out any incriminating footage…

It's funny how important it seemed back then, keeping everything secret, keeping _them _a secret. It wasn't because they were afraid of how people would react; at least he's fairly certain it wasn't. They'd told their closest friends and it didn't seem important to go much further than that. Somehow that decision had grown to a rule of nothing revealing in their videos, which had only grown more difficult as Phil grew very fond of sneaking an arm around Dan's waist whenever they were sitting close together.

Dan absentmindedly opens a new internet window, only mildly aware that he is allowing himself to _remember_, something he's fought for so long to avoid. Somehow, it's more comforting than he'd expected it to be. Logging into his email, his mind wanders painfully to the way Phil's hair looked first thing in the morning, fluffy and messy, before he'd had the chance to iron the black locks smooth. He can feel tears slowly prickling in the corners of his eyes, but ignores it, suddenly intrigued by what's appeared on the screen. Dan and Phil both started sorting their emails more than a year ago- anything important could easily be flooded by fanmail and spam – and in the first section, the part reserved for personal emails from friends, there was one new email, sent only two days earlier.

**From: Carrie Hope Fletche  
Subject: DANIEL JAMES HOWELL READ THIS NOW**

His eyes flashing with panic, Dan swiftly opens the email, scanning the contents in less than a minute, his pulse quickening and terror growing with every sentence.

_Hi Dan  
I don't know if you're going to get this in time or if you can even read your emails right now but I guess it's worth a shot. Of course there's always a chance that they'll track this back to me, but hopefully the public library doesn't share it's security camera footage.  
They've taken everyone, whoever they are. Alex, Charlie, PJ and Chris are all gone and I don't know if it's your fault but I know that before you left nothing was wrong and now everything is. Me and Phil are okay, for now, we're hiding and getting money and getting by, but I know this can't last forever.  
I don't know if you're going to read this but I can't be sure that someone else won't find it so I can't tell you our plan for sure, only we're not going to sit around and wait to be picked off like the others.  
Maybe they have you too…  
How do we know where is safe? Or who is safe.. maybe I should just delete this, but I can't just go without leaving some kind of message. If you are reading this, reply within one day because I'll be checking this again tomorrow, but after that I don't want to risk someone recognizing me again.  
I hope this isn't just me being silly and emotional, I hope you read this.. I hope you come back. He still misses you, more than ever.  
Love, Carrie._

He reads it twice more, just to make sure he hasn't misread a word, before deleting the email and his internet history and hurrying out of the café, almost knocking three chairs on his way out. Dan's skin feels cool and clammy, even as he stands in the glare of the warm afternoon sun. It is only ingrained training and immense self discipline that stop him from sprinting all the way back to his apartment to collect his things. Every step feels like a decade as he forces his feet into what would appear to be a regular walking pace, changing the focus of his gaze every eight to fifteen seconds- you never know who is watching.

When Dan finally makes it to his apartment, locking the door behind him, he packs all of his belongings in less than two minutes- not that he has many items worth taking with him. Sitting on the edge of his bed, he pulls his watch off his arm, noting the time, 4:15pm- in two hours it will be peak traffic and take much longer than an hour to get to the airport, but the wait is worth it; no need to get anyone who might be watching intrigued over his sudden change of plans. He can book a flight to England from the airport, he's earnt enough to cover that and a night at the airport hotel if it's going to take a while, but it really doesn't matter either way- Dan Howell is going home.

* * *

**_For NeverlandNat, DevTheManiac and i-like-to-write-too, it would never happen otherwise :P_**

**_Dan is back in the picture? Please let me know what you think, and more to follow soon! x_**


	9. It's Not Fair

**Chapter 9: It's Not Fair**

_(I know it took a while, and I'm so sorry you had to wait, but it's a nice long one! I hope you enjoy!)_

Carrie has always wanted to be a singer. Most siblings might be jealous of their brother when his music career takes off, but for Carrie, side from being immensely proud, it showed her that it was _possible, _not to give up on her dreams because if he could do it, why on earth shouldn't she be able to do the same. With a weary sigh, she peers at her reflection in grimy mirror, strange shadows cast by the flickering incandescent light above her. The red lipstick and heavy eyeliner are hardly her style, but the bar wouldn't hire her unless she'd accepted their terms on appearance and song choice, and they had been very specific. In a past dream of a normal life, she'd never have worn something so short and clingy and _sequined_ in a pink fit, but now, as she steps back to look at the offensively red garment, she has to agree that she does rather look the part of a cheap cabaret singer.

And she _is_ cheap, as was the makeup that she begins to wipe off her face with wads of hand towel, the red and black streaking across her face. They didn't have the money for anything at the moment- the dress was found tossed out with the rubbish of a local amateur theatre group, the jewels and makeup were the least expensive she could find at the supermarket. When she has finally taken the junk off, her face is bright red, but in the early morning hours, who was going to care about that?

Dawn is gentle; few people are left out from the night before and it's still too early for the bustle and rush of city workers. The walk back straddles the line between calming and terrifying- Carrie has heard what happens to young women alone in London. But by this point, there is no place she can feel truly safe. At least here, on the pavement, she can't be so easily cornered, she can still run- sort of. She presses on the heavy wooden door in the right spot to release the lock and pushes it open, kicking off her heels as soon as she gets inside. Not even bothering with her dress, she stumbles in the dim to the hallway and into the bedroom, collapsing into her bundle of collected sheets and blankets, exhausted from the long night.

After a few moments, her breathing evens out and her limbs adjust themselves into a more comfortable contortion in her make-shift bed. Her heavy eyes are just about to give way when she hears Phil shifting in his blankets.

"Hey."

"Hey yourself, was it a good night?" He sounds tired, his voice even more hoarse than hers.

"Could be worse. They let me sing Whitney… which was a nice change." The following words are smothered and intelligible, but then she turns her head slightly towards Phil, "Did you have a lovely sleep?" She can sense herself slipping into sleep as he replies, and though her mind forms the beginning of a response, by the time he's finished the sentence, she's fast asleep.

Waiting for a few moments before realizing Carrie was not going to respond, Phil sits upright, smiling at Carrie's snuggled form- she's never lost her warmth through all of this, not for one second. Rubbing at his eyes, he yawns widely- it's been seven hours and he knows he should be using this time to catch up on sleep, he should be up in three hours to head to the library, but somehow it's impossible for him to find any rest until he knows that Carrie is back and safe.

Lying back down, he closes his eyes and, just like every for the past few weeks night, he listens to the creaking of the wall to his left and tries not to think of Dan until the embrace of sleep steals him away.

Phil leaves the library at 4pm, amongst the flocks of schoolchildren leaving the school two buildings down, heading home or to a nearby food outlet in packs of gaggling teenagers. He slips in behind a group of four girls; close enough to not appear isolated without encroaching on their intense debate on which of them was most eligible to marry Tom Hiddleston. Smiling with premature wisdom at the gentle ease of their ignorance, Phil waits until they pass Rathbone Place before peeling off into the alleyway and sliding into the cover of the building shadows, the cloaking darkness protecting him until he reaches their front door.

The splintering wooden doors are plastered in band posters and graffiti, made thick with months of neglect so the only part where the decrepit wood can actually be seen is around the door handle and keyhole.

Pretending to fiddle with pressing a key into the lock (it was actually just a nail he'd found in a corner the first night they'd stayed here), Phil presses his shoulder against the middle panel of the door, hard, and it swings open.

He finds Carrie in the kitchen, hands wrapped tightly around a mug of tea. It was better than he'd expected, being homeless. They'd found this place abandoned with a relatively low proportion of rodent residents- most importantly it was the last place that they'd usually be found.

With a sigh, Phil poured himself a cup of tea from the kettle still warm over the stovetop. The library had, once again, been fruitless. He couldn't find anything, not on Dan, nor on any of the information they'd pulled out of that damned file. They were at a dead end, and both he and Carrie knew it. Neither of them exchanged a word but the resigned silence has spread, weed-like, through their little house.  
After a few moments, Carrie shoots him what was probably intended as a comforting smile, before pushing her chair back and depositing her mug into the sink.

"Wait." It occurs to Phil that most normal people would have said 'hello' by this stage, but their situation is anything but normal. "Carrie, we can't just keep doing this. I'm not finding anything and it's been two weeks. We've not heard from anyone, none of them, not even D-" He hates the way his voice cracks, every time, and inhales deeply, shakily; "Not even Dan. So, why aren't we doing anything?"

Carrie moves back to her seat, resting her chin in her hand, her glance gently quizzical. Perhaps the saddest thing for Phil is her hair- limply hanging either side of her face. It's wrong. Her voice, however, has somehow stayed as bubbly as ever.

"What can we do? They found us in Paddington, we didn't even get to my parents before-"

"Yes, yes I know, it's a good thing we were bloody lucky that time!" The memory of jumping from the train was still terrifying to both of them, as was the idea that they'd been somehow followed to the train station. It was the first time Phil had seen Carrie cry through this whole, crazy ordeal. "But this is going to drive us mad. How long can we evade them? I say, let's play the cards this time. It'll give us an edge surely, they won't us to be the ones coming and hunting _them_ down."

At this, Carrie's eyebrow darts skyward. "Hunting?" Phil nods, sitting up straighter in his chair.

"As far as I can see it, there are three things we can be certain of so far. Number one," He holds a single, pale finger into the dank air, "Someone is after us, and they've got the resources to track us down and take us almost without a trace- that's number two," He adds a second finger. Then he pauses, almost regretting his promise earlier, before spilling out," And a third- Dan kept something secret from us. I think that's what started this all. I can't understand why, or how, but the only clue we really have is that box we found, and they've taken it."

"Precisely! So it's not a very useful clue Phil, I don't know.. It sounds like we're up against more than we can take, and we should really just go to the-

"For the last time Carrie, we're not going to the police." He cut across her a second time, his impatience misdirected by fatigue. "Sorry, I just... We discussed this already; if this was realistically something the police could help us with, why have there been no news reports of our disappearance? How come we can't contact any family, how come they're not out here, trying to find us? That tell me that either they're working with the police, who are looking for us, but given the guns those guys on the train had, I doubt it's that one. More likely is, whatever we've stumbled upon, is too messy for the police to handle. They're keeping it hushed but they're not helping us?" Carrie snorts, and answers Phil's enquiring look with, "You watch way too much TV, my friend."

"You have a better theory?" She shakes her mane, and then frowns.

"But what does that mean? If this is beyond the police, how on earth would we be able to do anything?"

Phil's grin stretches across his face, "We have the element of surprise."

Carrie's heart is pounding as she walks down the too-familiar road, hands in pockets, mimicking nonchalance as best she can. They've done their very best to make her recognizable, blonde curls blowing in the wind, even the very same outfit that she was wearing that long night weeks ago when they returned to find their friends gone and their world torn into madness. She smiles at the old lady who passes, trying to act casual. They'd decided that as long as she didn't do anything drastic, no one else would either. Not in such a public location. They hoped.

When she arrives at their apartment block, she presses the buzzer for their door and stands, tapping her foot, as if waiting for a reply. To any passing stranger, this is as common a scene as buying milk, but she knows too well that the apartment is empty. They'd decided that it seemed likely that there would be some form of greeting party waiting there, in case they'd decided to return. They're betting on it.

Pulling an irritated expression, Carrie fumbles in her bag for a few moments, pulling out some paper and a pen, and she scribbles a note, just two lines, before stuffing into the mailbox.

_Where are you guys, you're not answering any of my calls!_

_I'm hanging at Starbucks till 2, meet me there if you get this before then. _

_xx Carrie_

She can't resist glancing up at the security camera before she leaves, ambling as casually as she can back down the street, apparently having failed to contact her two good friends. Eventually she turns off into the park, where there are spare clothes and a wig stashed in some bushes. It's a reasonable detour to make en route to the nearest Starbucks, and as Phil watches the door open and three men in suits dart out of his building, he can only hope that Carrie wasn't lying when she said that her tree climbing skills were to die for.

He forces himself to count to twenty before slipping out from his hiding place and onto the street, darting across the road to enter the car park behind the tall apartments. From there, he climbs atop the bins, yanking open the laundry window, which has been left unlocked for as long as Phil can remember. There is a moment of terror when he gives the frame a swift tug and it doesn't budge, but a few moments and strained pulling efforts later and it gives. He clambers awkwardly through the small space, wincing as he scrapes his forearm on the metal edge of the unused lock. From here, he accesses the back staircase, heart thudding to the rhythm of every silent step, half expecting to be found at any moment. This was hardly a well developed plan, but it appeared to working so far.

After passing by his own floor without interruption, Phil ascends one more floor, opens the hallway door and half sprints down to the hall, stopping two doors away from the elevator. He knocks on the door, politely first, but when no one responds for a few minutes, his fist rather pounds at the wood. It swings open to reveal a rather disgruntled and shirtless twenty-something year old man.

"Look, you've chosen a rather bad time to interrupt me but I'm here now, is there something I can help you with?" If he is surprised that Phil darts past him, closing the door behind him, it doesn't show.

"Hi, I'm Dan," He silently curses his inability to come up with a false name on the spot, "-and I live in the flat below yours, only I've left my keys at my girlfriends house- ex-girlfriend now, nasty business that, with my best friend too- I have a spare and the window's not locked only I can't get in to pick it up, and you know how the landlord gets about replacing the locks," His rambling only picks up it's pace with every phrase, as intended," –so if it isn't too much to ask of you, can I borrow your balcony?"

Phil sends a small thank you to any god who is listening, as he scales off the side of his neighbours balcony, for the kindness of strangers and the convenience of poorly planned buildings. Pushing open the glass door, he steps on the carpet, the tension of his own home overwhelming him, almost forcing him back outside. He can't hear anyone, but is unable to trust his judgement seeing as the blood pounding in his ears could well be concealing small noises nearby. As he makes his way to the bathroom, he slowly lets himself relax. There appears to be no one around- either they've gone off after Carrie or there was never anyone actually inside, just elsewhere in the building, positioned to wait for them to return.

Phil locks the door behind him, despite the paradoxical situation he was locking himself into. The bathroom, unlike the main room, had no balcony.

It had only occurred to him a few nights ago, a memory surfacing after so many years, presenting itself neatly for use in their plot. It had been early in the morning and Phil, just arriving home, had entered the bathroom to use it, only to find Dan there. Of course, he'd backed out and waited for Dan to leave, but his alcohol hazed mind had failed to acknowledge most of the abnormalities of the scene. Firstly, there was Dan, fully clothed, just standing there like a deer in the headlights. Then, there was the tile.

Trying his hardest to remember which one it was, Phil presses against the edges of several tiles in the bathroom just to the left of the mirror until, to his delight and surprise, one gives way beneath his fingertips, and swings upwards. Behind the false front, a small inlet had been carved out of the wall, holding a mobile phone and a wad of cash.

For just a moment, Phil stops to wonder how Dan had managed this- had he carved out the hole, needing a place to stash these objects? Or just noticed a convenient lose tile and worked from there. Shaking himself, he pockets the phone, first checking that it is switched off, and then the wad of cash. He peers into the gap to see what else was there and involuntarily gasps as he realises what the black form is, lying deep in the tiles- a gun.

Somehow, its presence is all he needs to snap out of his investigative mode, and turn back to his primary goal- getting out unnoticed. He is almost too scared to use their front door, but there appears to be no other option. Pushing the door open a crack, and spying a clear path, he quickly darts to the end of the hall and back into the staircase. Peering back through the small window on the door, Phil watches in horror as he sees men with guns storming in the door, moments after he is safely away. He only watches for a second, before bolting down the stairs at full speed, out the window and down an alleyway, barely breathing for fear of being caught. Somehow getting out is far easier than breaking in, and soon he finds himself lost in London once more and finally stops running, resting his palms over his knees, doubled over and breathless.

Checking his watch, he realises he only has another twenty minutes before he is supposed to meet Carrie back at their house, to show her the spoils of their venture. With a few swipes of his hand through his too-long hair, Phil is off again, winding through shops and strangers, until he is safe inside again- two minutes early.

Sitting down at the table, he pulls the phone from his pocket, curious as to what it might contain. Not wanting to turn it on quite yet, he turns the device over in his hands, more questions than answers budding in his mind. It's a Motorola flip-phone, and pathetically out of date. There's no camera, a bulky battery compartment and Phil is fairly certain that the screen would turn on to be black and white. It's in fairly bad nick, scratched and a small crack across the top corner of the screen, but other than that, it currently provides no other information. Next, he tugs the notes from his pocket and starts counting. A few minutes later and Phil has several stacks before him. He is stunned, he's never held so much money in his own hands before- that's five hundred pounds before him, all in neat ten pound notes. He hates himself for thinking this way, but Phil's foremost thought is why didn't Dan take it with him when he left?

He gathers the money and shoves it back into his pocket, not wanting to risk leaving it in an unlocked house, checking his watch again. Carrie's ten minutes late.

Phil decides not to let it bother him, not yet. He gives her thirty minutes before he allows himself to go searching for her. When the minute hand strikes twelve, he instantly regrets not going after her the instant he was clear of the apartment.

Despite his exhaustion, he gets to the park efficiently and, after checking for any signs of suspiciously loitering individuals, darts over to the group of trees where she planned to hide from their enemies.

Carrie's not there, nor is there any sign of her ever being there- that is until Phil checks the bushes nearby and pulls out her beanie.

She must have been pulling it over her distinctive curls when they got her, he reasons, and it fell off in the struggle. For a moment he considers questioning the families by the play set, but thinks better of it and heads off again, not bothering to play his game of shadows and sly secrecy this time.

He's all alone, walking down the street, with absolutely nothing to his name but five hundred pounds and a mobile phone. He's all alone.

Spotting a café that has a outdoor seating area, he makes his way over, ordering two caramel macchiato, and takes their coffees to a seat outside. Dan was usually the one who insisted on carrying the mugs, ever the gentleman (but also due to Phil's unbeatable record for dropping boiling hot beverages onto unsuspecting victims), but this time Phil managed for the both of them.

He sat there, sipping his coffee, watching the heat roll off Dan's in steamy waves, the cars and buses rushing past on the busy street in front of him. It's an indulgence, a moment of tranquil before the storm. They'd never been to this café, but Phil thinks Dan might have liked it. They serve chocolate waffles all day, according to the menu, so Phil had pretty good reason to think that he'd have liked it too, back when he and Dan did things like coffee and waffles and dates.

Eventually, he puts down the mug again and brings out the phone, pressing down on the power button until the screen flashes and comes to life. Already he has noticed three men enter the cafe and sit alone at seperate tables, watching his every move. They think they have him cornered, but he wants them to understand- this is his choice now, he's tired of running.

Phil can only find three contacts and he chooses the one most recently called, "G", and, with his jaw clenched and his free hand moving up to hang off the back of his neck, he clicks dial.

* * *

_That, my friends, is well over 3000 words. Which is no excuse for taking so long to update, I know! But now that I have a new updating program (check my profile) hopefully I will be less awful at not leaving you with cliffhangers! _

_Well. *giggles* _

_I hope enjoyed this newest instalment! My biggest appreciation and virtual hugs to NeverlandNat, RikkuPollendina, DevTheManiac, LaVaLiCiOuS and vogonsoup for their lovely reviews! This one's for you, I hope you liked it! :D _

_Until next time_

_xxx panfs_


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